


Show Some Humanity

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 20:42:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12638790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He knew what was coming. An apology, then some dreaded soliloquy on how he should’ve been more careful, on how he would be more careful, and a promise to become better. Enjolras wouldn’t. Grantaire knew he wouldn’t. The man was always too wrapped in his own thoughts to think of anything else than The Greater Plan. The Grand Cause. How altruistic, how idiotic.Enjolras is sick, and Grantaire thinks it's his fault.





	Show Some Humanity

**Author's Note:**

> The usual disclaimers. Not my characters, so on, so forth. Simply fictitious. Any similarities with other works of fiction are purely coincidental.
> 
> This will be part one of a (hopefully) series?? There's no theme really, just a slew of oneshots, all taking place in different worlds and different times. Expect a lot of AUs that I might find appealing. There's really no telling what's going to happen.
> 
> Enjoy!

“That’s a good look on you.”

 

At this, Enjolras grimaced, lips tugged just slightly downwards, a furrow in his brows. There were some things swimming across his cerulean eyes. Confusion. A bit of exasperation and hurt. He frowned at the fleeting looks.

 

“ _Grantaire_.” Enjolras said warningly, though his eyes glanced downwards to check on his hospital gown, golden curls spilling over as his head tilted. His skin was still horribly pallid.  _ God _ . 

 

“I believe the customary response is ‘thank you’, Apollo.” Grantaire teased, his figure lax against the rickety coffee table, which creaked in response. The room had shit furniture and even shittier employees. Who decided for Enjolras to be cooped up in this sorry excuse of a hospital? For certain, not Joly. “And perhaps, followed by a compliment for  _ my _ attire.”

 

If Joly even  _ knew _ , they would be at  _ his _ hospital right now, getting their heads chewed off. Neither Grantaire nor Enjolras needed that.

 

“ _ Apollo _ .” He scoffed. There were a million things skittering across his eyes. Something reminiscent, endearing. Something else entirely different. Grantaire tried to ignore the heavy purple bags under his eyes. If he would only  _ speak _ . “Grantaire.” Enjolras’ voice sounded hesitant. 

 

Grantaire took a step closer to the bed, all thin mattresses and tubes and pristine white. He ran a hand atop the short railing.

 

He knew what was coming. An apology, then some dreaded soliloquy on how he should’ve been more careful, on how he  _ would _ be more careful, and a promise to become better. Enjolras wouldn’t. Grantaire knew he wouldn’t. The man was always too wrapped in his own thoughts to think of anything else than The Greater Plan. The Grand Cause. How altruistic, how  _ idiotic _ .

 

Something was beeping in the background.

 

Grantaire allowed the anger to fester in his chest. For once he wasn’t the one to blame in an argument. Or what  _ could _ be an argument. The feel of it was impending, hanging over their heads. He wasn’t drunk, or running his mouth, or acting reckless and cynical and blatant. It wasn’t his fault this time. He let it grow.

 

“Say it.” Grantaire dared. All the air of amusement was gone. Enjolras looked away. He hoped it was out of shame. 

 

The air went stale. The machine kept on beeping. Something lodged in his throat.  _ Enjolras, Enjolras, Enjolras. _ He who was made of marble and angel feathers and sunlight can’t even take care of himself. It made Grantaire unexplainably  _ angry _ . And  _ disappointed _ . If he couldn’t do it for his own wellbeing, couldn’t he at least think of how Grantaire would feel, how he would  _ loathe _ himself, if anything was to happen? If things got any worse? If Enjolras..

 

The tears were there before he could stop them, prickling behind his eyes.

 

“God’s sake.” Grantaire muttered, voice dripping with..what? Contempt? Frustration? His hands flew up to wipe wipe his eyes angrily.

 

Then he continued to grip the bed’s railing. The metal was quickly losing its coolness from the warmth of his palm. 

 

Enjolras’ head snapped up at his tone, expression laced with concern. It morphed quickly to guilt.

 

“Do you have any idea-” Grantaire took a composing breath before he looked up to meet the questioning blue eyes, which recoiled at the bloodshot he was met with. He forced himself to look away before he started crying again, like some  _ hormonal teenager. God _ . “-any idea at  _ all _ , Enjolras. If you had-” He bit back a sob. It lodged painfully in his throat. “If I had  _ found- _ ”

 

“ _ Yes _ .” Enjolras murmured. There were mental pictures being painted. Grantaire could tell the other man was thinking of them, too. Enjolras slumped against their bathroom, limp. Enjolras with sweat and bile and tremors quaking through his body, alone. Grantaire being greeted with silence before he could realize what was going on. “Stop. Don’t say it.” 

 

The words hung in the air. Grantaire looked out the window, still attempting to blink back tears. His eyelids were sore now, almost painful. He could actually  _ feel _ Enjolras’ stare against his skin, concerned and prying.  _ God _ . If only he wasn’t so  _ relieved _ , so  _ in love _ , it would be easier for him to reprimand the blonde.

 

“You were lucky this time.” His voice broke embarrassingly. He cleared his throat. Enjolras stirred in his bed. “You-If it wasn’t for Jehan.”

 

He knew it wasn’t fair, but he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy in his chest. Jehan was a good friend of them both, that much was true. But just the thought that it had been  _ them _ by Enjolras’ side when he had collapsed, that it had been  _ them _ whispering assurances and hauling him up, while Grantaire was at his studio making another  _ shitty _ painting doing his  _ shitty _ job, which drastically paled in importance once compared to Enjolras, was enough to drive him  _ insane _ .

 

But still, his gratitude for Jehan ran deep. Who knew what could’ve happened if they didn’t stop by to drop off their cooking? Who knew what state Enjolras would be in now if Grantaire hadn’t given them a pair of keys to the apartment?

 

Grantaire had to stop the train of ‘ _ what if _ ’s, it was making his brain hurt and his heart clench just thinking of them.

 

“ _ Well _ ?” Grantaire’s tone was sharper than intended. Enjolras’ flinch made him feel bad, but satisfied at the same time. “Aren’t you going to  _ say something _ ?”

 

“I-” Enjolras’ gaze dropped. He fiddled with the IV, trailing his fingers up and down the tube. “I don’t know what to say.”

 

Grantaire was going to cry. He knew he was going to cry. He could feel it build up in his chest and behind his eyes and even in his unsteady breathing. Why was Enjolras acting so unaffected? It was  _ him _ with the fever,  _ him _ with his lungs drained. Didn’t he feel, well,  _ scared _ ?

 

“Maybe a  _ ‘sorry’ _ ?” Grantaire prompted, voice laced with desperation. _ Show some humanity _ , his head pleaded,  _ Please, Apollo. _

 

“I’m sorry.” Enjolras relented. He didn’t look up from his fiddling. 

 

Grantaire waited, waited for the silence to be filled, waiting for what was more to come. But Enjolras had stopped there. That was it. No soliloquy, like Grantaire had predicted. No promises.

 

“Don’t you  _ care _ at all?” He spluttered before he could stop himself. He ran his fingers through his own mop of dark curls.  _ Calm, calm, calm _ . Enjolras’ attention snapped back to him, the blue of his eyes now dark. Grantaire’s throat was  _ burning _ . “You-I get it. You don’t care about yourself. I don’t understand it, but that’s your own issue-” He scoffed, but it sounded more like a whimper. “-I just thought- I still  _ think _ -”

 

“Grantaire.” Enjolras’ voice was gentle. Grantaire willed himself to look at his skinny figure, all bones and sharp angles, and his perfect hair all mussed up and edging more to brown than gold.  _ He could have prevented that _ .

 

That was it. The tears spilled over his eyes, in a rush and with no preamble.  _ Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic. _ His chest burned, his eyes burned, everything burned. Both of Grantaire’s hands were raised to cover his eyes, the heels pressed down, aggressively wiping the tears away. But they came one after the other, with the image of Enjolras’ sickness still sticking behind his eyelids. It made his stomach churn.

 

He can’t see how the blonde was reacting. He didn’t want to see.

 

“ _ Grantaire _ .” Enjolras’ voice sounded endearing, more hurt and confused than ever.

 

“I just  _ thought- _ ” Grantaire was thrown off by his own breathlessness, how airy his voice sounded. Like someone had punched him in the guts. “-you  _ cared- _ if not about yourself, then about  _ me _ .”

 

Silence filled the air again, this time accompanied by his erratic breathing. He felt pathetic. As if he was acting like a  _ child _ .

 

“Of course I do.” Enjolras sounded far away, but the surprise in his tone was still heard clear as day. “Oh God. R,  _ of course I do _ . Why would you  _ ever _ think otherwise?”

 

Grantaire didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. The tears kept coming, more profusely than ever under the effect of Enjolras’ words. Did he believe it? It wasn’t as if Enjolras had  _ shown _ it often, that he cared, that is. Sure, they kissed and cuddled and made each other breakfast. They laughed and had inside jokes. But that didn’t prove anything, not until times went rough, ripping through them, tearing them apart. It was only then would he really  _ know _ .

 

“I don’t  _ know _ .” He breathed more than he talked.  _ I don’t know whether you care _ . He wanted to say. But it just seemed a bit too harsh.

 

The hospital sheets shuffled, followed by the slight creak of wheels. 

 

“Grantaire.” Enjolras sounded so close now. He felt a hand against his elbow, another behind his neck, trailing a thin IV tube. Keeping him in place. Rooted. “Grantaire, please. Look at me.”

 

He removed his hands, and the world bleared white from the pressure he kept on his eyelids. Enjolras moved first, weaving his own fingers into Grantaire’s, then pulling him close to rest their foreheads together. Their eyes met, and Grantaire took a jagged breath. The cerulean eyes would never cease to amaze him.

 

“I’m sorry.” Enjolras started, moving to rest his head in the crook of Grantaire’s neck. His body was still warm with the receding fever, skin still tinted red like he was constantly out of breath. But he still smelled like Enjolras, like the French cologne he used and the flowery scent of their pillow’s detergent, if not with a hint of sweat and the after-smell of bile. Grantaire relaxed, and he knew that Enjolras could feel him melting into the embrace. The blonde only held on tighter. “It was wrong of me to pretend I was alright. It was wrong of me not to tell anyone. But I was so convinced that I would be okay, that it was just another sick day. I didn’t think of how much you could’ve been worried. I was selfish.”

 

“Do you-” Grantaire murmured against the other’s skin, his own chest beginning to calm. “-have _any_ idea how worried I was?”

 

“I have been told that you wouldn’t leave.” Enjolras smiled fondly. He withdrew, and his fingers fluttered over the tear tracks on Grantaire’s skin, wiping them away. “Ever the hard-head.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, kudos, and the like are all welcomed!! I would really love to hear what you think of it. Give me a follow on tumblr?


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